‘Right,’ he grunted.
At the far end of the cobwebbed hallway stood a large, heavy door. When their silent escort pulled it open, the rusty hinges squealed in protest. They came out at the head of a curved stairway that led down into a very large room. The room was vaulted, its walls were painted white, and the polished stone floor was as black as night. A fire burned fitfully in the arched fireplace, and the only other light came from a single candle on the table before the fire. Seated at the table was a pale-faced, grey-haired man dressed all in black. His face was melancholy and had the pallor of one who is seldom out in the sun. He looked somehow unhealthy, a victim of some obscure malaise. He was reading a large, leather-bound book by the light of his single candle.
‘The people I spoke of, Master,’ the lantern-jawed man in the bull-hide armour said deferentially in his deep, hollow voice.
‘Very well, Occuda,’ the man at the table replied in a weary voice. ‘Prepare chambers for them. They will stay until the storm abates.’
‘It shall be as you say, Master.’ The big servant turned and went back up the stairs.
‘Very few people travel into this part of the kingdom,’ the man in black informed them. ‘The region is desolate and unpopulated. I am Count Ghasek, and I offer you the meagre shelter of my house until the weather clears. In time, you may wish that you had not found my gate.’
‘My name is Sparhawk,’ the big Pandion told him, and then he introduced the others.
Ghasek nodded politely to each. ‘Seat yourselves,’ he invited his guests. ‘Occuda will return shortly and prepare refreshments for you.’
‘You are very kind, My Lord of Ghasek,’ Sparhawk said, removing his helmet and gauntlets.
‘You may not think so for long, Sir Sparhawk,’ Ghasek said ominously.
‘That’s the second time you’ve hinted at some kind of trouble within your walls, My Lord,’ Tynian said.
‘And it may not be the last, Sir Tynian. The word “trouble”, however, is far too mild, I’m afraid. To be quite honest with you, had you not been Knights of the Church, my gates would have remained closed to you. This is an unhappy house, and I do not willingly inflict its sorrows on strangers.’
‘We passed through Venne a few days ago, My Lord,’ Sparhawk said carefully. ‘All manner of rumours are going about concerning your castle.’
‘I’m not in the least surprised,’ the count replied, passing a trembling hand across his face.
‘Are you unwell, My Lord?’ Sephrenia asked him.
‘Advancing age perhaps, Madame, and there’s only one cure for that.’
‘We saw no other servants in your house, My Lord,’ Bevier said, obviously choosing his words carefully.
‘Occuda and I are the only ones here now, Sir Bevier.’
‘We encountered a minstrel in the forest, Count Ghasek,’ Bevier told him almost accusingly. ‘He mentioned the fact that you have a sister.’
‘You must mean the fool called Arbele,’ the count replied. ‘Yes, I do in fact have a sister.’
‘Will the lady be joining us?’ Bevier’s tone was sharp.
‘No,’ the count replied shortly. ‘My sister is indisposed.’
‘Lady Sephrenia here is highly skilled in the healing arts,’ Bevier pressed.
‘My sister’s malady is not susceptible to cure.’ The count said it with a note of finality.
‘That’s enough, Bevier,’ Sparhawk told the young Cyrinic in a tone of command.
Bevier flushed and rose from his chair to walk to the far end of the room.
‘The young man seems distraught,’ the count observed.
‘The minstrel Arbele told him some things about your house,’ Tynian said candidly. ‘Bevier’s an Arcian, and they’re an emotional people.’
‘I see,’ the melancholy nobleman replied. ‘I can imagine the kind of wild tales Arbele is telling. Fortunately, few will believe him.’
‘I’m afraid you’re in error, My Lord,’ Sephrenia disagreed. ‘The tales Arbele tells are a symptom of a disorder that clouds his reason, and the disorder is infectious. For a time at least, everyone he encounters will accept what he says as absolute truth.’
‘My sister’s arm grows longer, I see.’
From somewhere far back in the house there came a hideous shriek, followed by peal upon peal of mindless laughter.
‘Your sister?’ Sephrenia asked gently.
Ghasek nodded, and Sparhawk could see the tears brimming in his eyes.
‘And her malady is not physical?’
‘No.’
‘Let us not pursue this further, gentlemen,’ Sephrenia said to the knights. ‘The subject is painful to the count.’
‘You’re very kind, Madame,’ Ghasek said gratefully. He sighed, then said, ‘Tell me, Sir Knights, what brings you into this melancholy forest?’
‘We came expressly to see you, My Lord,’ Sparhawk told him.
‘Me?’ The count looked surprised.
‘We are on a quest, Count Ghasek. We seek the final resting place of King Sarak of Thalesia, who fell during the Zemoch invasion.’
‘The name is vaguely familiar to me.’
‘I thought it might be. A tanner in the town of Paler – a man named Berd – ’
‘Yes. I know him.’
‘Anyway, he told us of the chronicle you’re compiling.’
The count’s eyes brightened, bringing life to his face for the first time since they had entered the room. ‘The labour of a lifetime, Sir Sparhawk.’
‘So I understand, My Lord. Berd told us that your research has been more or less exhaustive.’
‘Berd may be a bit overgenerous in that regard.’ The count smiled modestly. ‘I have, however, gathered most of the folk-lore in northern Pelosia and even in some parts of Deira. Otha’s invasion was far more extensive than is generally known.’
‘Yes, so we discovered. With your permission, we’d like to examine your chronicle for clues that might lead us to the place where King Sarak is buried.’
‘Certainly, Sir Sparhawk, and I’ll help you myself, but the hour grows late, and my chronicle is weighty.’ He smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘Once I begin, we could be up for most of the night. I lose all track of time once I immerse myself in those pages. Suppose we wait until morning before we begin.’
‘As you wish, My Lord.’
Then Occuda entered, bringing a large pot of thick stew and a stack of plates. ‘I fed her, Master,’ he said quietly.
‘Is there any change?’ the count asked.
‘No, Master. I’m afraid not.’
The count sighed, and his face became melancholy again.
Occuda’s skills in the kitchen appeared to be limited. The stew he provided was mediocre at best, but the count was so immersed in his studies that he appeared to be indifferent to what was set before him.
After they had eaten, the count bade them good night, and Occuda led them up the stairs and down a long corridor towards the rooms he had prepared. As they approached the chambers, they heard the shrieks of the madwoman once again. Bevier suppressed a sob. ‘She’s suffering,’ he said in an anguished voice.
‘No, Sir Knight,’ Occuda disagreed. ‘She’s completely insane, and people in her condition cannot comprehend their circumstances.’
‘I’d be interested to know how a servant came to be such an expert in diseases of the mind.’
‘That’s enough, Bevier,’ Sparhawk said again.
‘No, Sir Knight,’ Occuda said. ‘Your friend’s question is pertinent.’ He turned towards Bevier. ‘In my youth, I was a monk,’ he said. ‘My order devoted itself to caring for the infirm. One of our abbeys had been converted into a hospice for the deranged, and that’s where I served. I have had much experience with the insane. Believe me when I tell you that Lady Bellina is hopelessly mad.’
Bevier looked a little less certain of himself, but then his face hardened again. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he snapped.
‘That’s ent
irely up to you, Sir Knight,’ Occuda said. ‘This will be your chamber.’ He opened a door. ‘Sleep well.’
Bevier went into the room and slammed the door behind him.
‘You know that as soon as the house grows quiet, he’ll go in search of the count’s sister, don’t you?’ Sephrenia murmured.
‘You’re probably right,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Occuda, is there some way you can lock that door?’
The huge Pelosian nodded. ‘I can chain it shut, My Lord,’ he said.
‘You’d better do it then. We don’t want Bevier wandering around the halls in the middle of the night.’ Sparhawk thought a moment. ‘We’d better post a guard outside his door as well,’ he told the others. ‘He’s got his lochaber axe with him, and if he gets desperate enough, he might try to chop the door down.’
‘That could get a little tricky, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said dubiously. ‘We don’t want to hurt him, but we don’t want him coming at us with that gruesome axe of his either.’
‘If he tries to get out, we’ll just have to overpower him,’ Sparhawk said.
Occuda showed the others to their rooms, and Sparhawk’s was the last. ‘Will that be all, Sir Knight?’ the servant asked politely as they entered.
‘Stay a moment, Occuda,’ Sparhawk said.
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘I’ve seen you before, you know.’
‘Me, My Lord?’
‘I was in Chyrellos some time ago, and Sephrenia and I were watching a house belonging to some Styrics. We saw you accompany a woman into that house. Was that Lady Bellina?’
Occuda sighed and nodded.
‘It was what happened in that house that drove her mad, you know.’
‘I’d guessed as much.’
‘Can you tell me the whole story? I don’t want to bother the count with painful questions, but we’ve got to rid Sir Bevier of his obsession.’
‘I understand, My Lord. My first loyalty is to the count, but perhaps you should know the details. At least that way you may be able to protect yourselves from that madwoman.’ Occuda sat down, his rugged face mournful. ‘The count is a scholarly man, Sir Knight, and he’s frequently away from home for long periods pursuing the stories he’s been collecting for decades. His sister, Lady Bellina, is – or was – a plain, rather dumpy woman of middle years with very little prospects of ever catching a husband. This is a remote and isolated house, and Bellina suffered from loneliness and boredom. Last winter, she begged the count to permit her to visit friends in Chyrellos, and he gave her his consent, provided that I accompany her.’
‘I’d wondered how she got there,’ Sparhawk said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘Anyway,’ Occuda continued, ‘Bellina’s friends in Chyrellos are giddy, senseless ladies, and they filled her ears with stories about a Styric house where a woman’s youth and beauty could be restored by magic. Bellina became inflamed with a wild desire to go to the house. Women do things for strange reasons sometimes.’
‘Did she in fact grow younger?’
‘I wasn’t permitted to accompany her into the room where the Styric magician was, so I can’t say what happened in there, but when she came out, I scarcely recognized her. She had the body and face of a sixteen-year-old, but her eyes were dreadful. As I told your friend, I’ve worked with the insane before, so I recognize the signs. I bundled her up and brought her straight back to this house, hoping that I might be able to treat her here. The count was away on one of his journeys, so he had no way of knowing what began to happen after I got her home.’
‘And what was that?’
Occuda shuddered. ‘It was horrible, Sir Knight,’ he said in a sick voice. ‘Somehow, she was able to completely dominate the other servants. It was as if they were powerless to resist her commands.’
‘All except you?’
‘I think the fact that I had been a monk may have protected me – either that or she didn’t think I was worth the trouble.’
‘What exactly did she do?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘Whatever it was that she encountered in that house in Chyrellos was totally evil, Sir Knight, and it possessed her utterly. She would send the servants who were her slaves out to surrounding villages by night, and they would abduct innocent serfs for her. I discovered later that she’d had a torture chamber set up in the cellar of this house. She gloried in blood and agonies.’ Occuda’s face twisted with revulsion. ‘Sir Knight, she fed on human flesh and bathed her naked body in human blood. I saw her with my own eyes.’
He paused and then continued. ‘It was no more than a week ago when the count returned to the castle. It was late one night when he arrived, and he sent me to the cellar for a bottle of wine, though he seldom drinks anything but water. When I was down there, I heard what sounded like a scream. I went to investigate, and opened the door to her secret chamber. I wish to God I never had!’ He covered his face with his hands, and a wracking sob escaped him. ‘Bellina was naked,’ he continued after he had regained his composure, ‘and she had a serf-girl chained down on a table. Sir Knight, she was cutting the poor girl to pieces while she was still alive, and she was cramming quivering pieces of flesh into her own mouth!’ Occuda made a retching sound, then clenched his teeth together.
Sparhawk never knew what impelled him to ask the question. ‘Was she alone in there?’
‘No, My Lord. The servants who were her slaves were there as well, lapping the blood from those dank stones. And – ’ The lantern-jawed man hesitated.
‘Go on.’
‘I cannot swear to this, My Lord. My head was reeling, but it seemed that at the back of the chamber there was a hooded figure all in black, and its presence chilled my soul.’
‘Can you give me any details about it?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘Tall, very thin, totally enshrouded in a black robe.’
‘And?’ Sparhawk pressed, knowing with icy certainty what came next.
‘The room was dark, My Lord,’ Occuda apologized, ‘except for the fires in which Bellina heated her torturing irons, but from that back corner I seemed to see a glow of green. Is that in any way significant?’
‘It may be,’ Sparhawk replied bleakly. ‘Go on with the story.’
‘I ran to inform the count. At first he refused to believe me, but I forced him to go to the cellar with me. I thought at first he would kill her when he saw what she was doing. Would to God that he had! She started screeching when she saw him in the doorway and tried to attack him with the knife she’d been using on the serf-girl, but I wrested it from her. The thin one in the black robe seemed to shrink back when we entered, and when I looked for it later, it was gone. The count and I were both too sickened and disturbed to go looking for whomever it might have been.’
‘Was that when the count locked her in the tower?’ Sparhawk was shaken by the horrible story.
‘That was my idea, actually,’ Occuda said grimly. ‘At the hospice where I served, the violent ones were always confined. We dragged her to the tower, and I chained the door shut. She will remain there for the rest of her life if there’s any way I can manage it.’
‘What happened to the other servants?’
‘At first they made attempts to free her, and I had to kill several of them. Then, yesterday, the count heard a few of them telling a wild story to that silly fool of a minstrel. He instructed me to drive them all out of the castle. They milled around outside the gate for a while, and then they all ran off.’
‘Was there anything strange about them?’
‘They all had absolutely blank faces,’ Occuda replied, ‘and the ones I killed died without making a sound.’
‘I was afraid of that. We’ve encountered that before.’
‘What happened to her in that house, Sir Knight? What drove her mad?’
‘You’ve been trained as a monk, Occuda,’ Sparhawk said, ‘so you’ve probably had some theological instruction. Are you familiar with the name Azash?’
‘The God of the Zemochs?’
/> ‘That’s Him. The Styrics in that house in Chyrellos were Zemochs, and it’s Azash who owns Lady Bellina’s soul. Is there any way she could possibly have escaped from that tower?’
‘Absolutely impossible, My Lord.’
‘Somehow she managed to infect that minstrel, and he was able to pass it on to Bevier.’
‘She could not have left the tower, Sir Knight,’ Occuda said adamantly.
‘I’ll need to talk with Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Thank you for being so honest, Occuda.’
‘I told you all this in the hope that you could help the count.’ Occuda rose to his feet.
‘We’ll do what we can.’
‘Thank you. I’ll go chain your friend’s door shut.’ He started towards the door, then turned back. ‘Sir Knight,’ he said in a sombre tone, ‘do you think I should kill her? Might that not be better?’
‘It may come to that, Occuda,’ Sparhawk said frankly, ‘and if you do, you’ll have to cut off her head. Otherwise, she’ll just rise again.’
‘I can do that if I have to. I have an axe, and I’ll do anything to spare the count more suffering.’
Sparhawk put a comforting hand on the servant’s shoulder. ‘You’re a good and true man, Occuda,’ he said. ‘The count’s lucky to have you in his service.’
‘Thank you, My Lord.’
Sparhawk removed his armour and went down the corridor to Sephrenia’s door.
‘Yes?’ she said in response to his knock.
‘It’s me, Sephrenia,’ he said.
‘Come in, dear one,’ she said.
He entered her room. ‘I had a talk with Occuda,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘He told me what’s been happening here. I’m not sure if you want to hear it.’
‘If I’m to cure Bevier, I’m afraid I’ll have to.’
‘We were right,’ Sparhawk began. ‘The Pelosian woman we saw going into that Zemoch house in Chyrellos was the count’s sister.’
‘I was sure of it. What else?’
Briefly, Sparhawk repeated what Occuda had told him, glossing over the more gory details.
‘It’s consistent,’ she said almost clinically. ‘That form of sacrifice is a part of the worship of Azash.’